


where gloom and brightness meet

by schweet_heart



Series: Merlin Fic [51]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - World War I, Angst, Blackmail, M/M, Mutual Pining, Period Typical Attitudes, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 15:58:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9615140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: WW1 AU. “Since when have I ever listened to you?” Merlin speeds up and grabs for Arthur’s arm, only to be shaken off with a quiet oath. “Arthur. Half the bloody county is joining up; I may be only a humble peasant, but I do have a sense of honour, just like anyone else.”





	

  


  


  


It starts raining while they’re still a quarter of a mile out, great sodden gusts that soak into their coats and boots and drip in chilly runnels down the backs of their necks. Merlin raises his collar to fend off the worst of it and squints down the drive; it’s not far to the house now, but even at a run they’ll be wet through before they reach it.

  


Ahead of him, Arthur continues on at a walking pace, undaunted. He has his head down, pale hair already plastered against his skull, his shoulders squared the way he gets when he’s determined not to give in. Merlin isn’t sure which of them he has set his mind against: the rain, or Merlin himself – or perhaps he views them both as inextricably linked in concert against him, along with the motor car and its unreliable engine. 

  


“You’re being ridiculous,” Merlin shouts at Arthur’s back, raising his voice to be heard over the storm. “You can’t possibly imagine I’d be content to stop at home while you’re off risking your life for king and country.”

  


“No,” Arthur snaps back, his frustration audible even through the rain. “But I did imagine you’d do what I asked and keep out of it.”

  


Merlin snorts. “You didn’t ask, you ordered.”

  


“All the more reason to do as you’re told.”

  


“Since when have I ever listened to you?” Merlin speeds up and grabs for Arthur’s arm, only to be shaken off with a quiet oath. “Arthur. Half the bloody county is joining up; I may be only a humble peasant, but I do have a sense of honour, just like anyone else.”

  


That makes Arthur stop and turn on him, his eyes blazing in a way that makes Merlin take an instinctive step back. He has never known Arthur to hit a man in anger, but there is a tension to his stance and the way he holds himself, as if the desire to lash out and cause pain were being tightly controlled.

  


“Don’t you understand?” he demands, seizing Merlin’s forearms in a fierce grip. “My father, Morgana, they all expect me to join up – if I didn’t, I’d risk being called a coward, and rightly so. But no one expects bravery from you; you’re just a valet. Your actions reflect on nobody but yourself.”

  


Merlin feels himself flush, despite knowing the statement is nothing but the truth. “Is that what you think of me?” he asks. “That I’m a coward?”

  


“No, Merlin.” Arthur meets his eyes for an instant, something huge and terrible sliding out of sight behind his flattened, fixed expression. He swallows hard, and then with unexpected gentleness reaches out to track a raindrop down the side of Merlin’s face. Merlin closes his eyes.

  


“Men die in war,” Arthur says quietly. “Or worse. I had hoped to protect you from that.”

  


“I’m not a child,” Merlin says. “I don’t need your protection, and I certainly don’t need your permission.”

  


“As your employer, I could forbid it.”

  


“I’ll quit.” 

  


“Then I’ll have you arrested.” 

  


Merlin barks a laugh. “On what charge?”

  


Arthur holds his gaze, and a sudden nausea overturns Merlin’s belly, like a punch to the gut. 

  


“Don’t be absurd.” He staggers. “Are you _blackmailing_ me?”

  


The worst of the downpour seems to have passed, leaving behind only a fine mist beading the leaves on the trees and the sodden pasture, and the sound of water trickling down the hill back the way they have come. Over the rise and a short walk away lies Camelot House, Arthur’s father’s seat and Merlin’s home these past six years. If Arthur has his way, Merlin might never set foot in it again.

  


“I’d lose everything.”

  


“You’d be alive.”

  


After a moment, Arthur starts walking again, and Merlin follows him, listening to the squelch and give of his footsteps in the grass. He doesn’t really believe that Arthur would do it – if nothing else, it would be implicating himself as much as Merlin, and in any case he’s too honourable a man. Still, he says, “I don’t care what you do. I won’t be talked out of it.”

  


Arthur glances at him with a wry smile. “You’re determined to be impossible, then.”

  


“You know me.” Merlin shrugs. “Besides, you wouldn’t last a day without someone to iron your uniform and starch your socks.”

  


“You’ve never in your life starched my socks.”

  


“Well, no,” Merlin concedes. “But that’s because you’re not supposed to starch socks, and in any case I don’t work in the laundry. But the principle’s the same.”

  


This earns him a sidelong smile, sweet and fleeting, before Arthur ducks his head and turns away. They walk in silence down the hill, until they reach the gravel path leading up through the open gates and the crunch of their boots sounds loud and uneven in the stillness. At last Arthur says, “You’re going to war for me.”

  


“For the country,” Merlin corrects, then grins. “But mostly for you.”

  


For a brief moment their fingers brush and then tangle together, and Arthur squeezes his hand, hard. Merlin squeezes back. He can forgive Arthur his doubts if Arthur will forgive him his confidence: he will not stay here and wait for news when he knows his place is by Arthur’s side, regardless. 

  


“I’m sorry,” Arthur says, after a moment. “Of course I would never do it. I just — “ He swallows. “I’m afraid.”

  


Here in the alcove, they are sheltered from the rain and from observation from the house, but only barely. Anyone could happen upon them at any moment. Despite this, and knowing how much it cost Arthur to admit to him those two little words, Merlin risks the press of a kiss to the palm of Arthur’s hand; brushes his lips across the suddenly-white knuckles. 

  


“I know,” he says. “Me too.”


End file.
